


keep going till you hit the spot, whoa

by izzetboilerworks



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M, Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Unsanitary uses of champagne, big mad feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 22:03:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16375811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzetboilerworks/pseuds/izzetboilerworks
Summary: It's a bad idea. As soon is it forms in Cody's head, he knows it's a bad idea. But then once he thinks it, he can'tstopthinking it.





	keep going till you hit the spot, whoa

**Author's Note:**

> No slander intended. 
> 
> Title is from Candy Shop by 50 Cent

It's a bad idea. As soon is it forms in Cody's head, he knows it's a bad idea. But then once he thinks it, he can't _stop_ thinking it. As he watches droplets of champagne or beer or sweat slide down the curve of Kiké's spine. He thinks about it. 

He wants to chase it with his tongue, like running after pop-flies during practice, shielding his eyes from the sun. Kiké is all pale skin and broad shoulders and he looks _smooth_ , slippery. If Cody did catch him, he'd slide out of his grip. 

He goes over anyways and wraps an arm around his shoulder, and his fingers stick to the drying alcohol, and Kiké laughs and it feels like in his heart what the champagne bubbles do against his skin as they get sprayed again and again. 

It should have been the end of it because it _has_ to be the end of it. Cody's been decent at squishing down all of his complicated feelings lately and he only has to stay focused up for one more series-- then he could be back home in Arizona either depressed (again) or triumphant and he can use the offseason to get Kiké out of his blood. 

Out from beneath his skin. 

Except-- _except_ , then he steps away, content to watch the celebration go on. Maybe he can find someone lowkey to hang out with after the fact. Go and take a few hits and just not think about anything because it’s going to be a little while before gameday and he’s _earned_ that.  
Except– then he sees someone walk up behind Kiké, whose pants are already sitting too low on his slim hips– bright red underwear taunting him like a matador to a bull– and he doesn’t know who it is from the back, but his vantage point is enough to see the culprit slide their finger in the waistband of his underwear and pull it away just so– and upend the bottle into his pants. 

Cody watches with what is – perhaps– too much interest and tries to stop thinking about it. Someone is hollering and he cuts his gaze away because he can’t bear to watch. Kiké has just gotten married, he likes women and it doesn’t matter if he acts like _that_ it isn’t because he wants– anything that Cody wants or needs to give him.

But Cody is drunk. Drunk and stupid. Drunk, stupid, and _wanting_. 

He can laugh it off as drunk and celebratory, whatever. His brain says _fuck it_ which he knows isn’t a good sign for anything else. Except his dick, which is already well and truly interested. 

They take a few pictures, the clubhouse goes back to being rowdy, and there’s the way the bottle is making Kiké’s pants hang lower– much lower than they should be. He’s soaked through. Cody’s mouth feels dry and he thinks maybe just maybe this is a bad idea. 

Drunk brain _respectfully_ disagrees. 

“We should keep celebrating,” Cody says and his mouth is against Kiké’s ear, and he tastes like champagne and it’s good. He’s warm. He feels like he’s being incinerated just being this close. Kiké shivers against his side and Cody thinks his tongue probably brushes the shell of his ear. “your room or mine?” 

It’s a private party. 

But he doesn’t think Kiké needs to know that. They wind up with more bottles of champagne and everything wound down enough that they can leave without getting too much attention on them. Cody knows it’s bad taste– (“ _MVP! MVP!”_ chants follow him out the door) – but he has a single minded purpose. 

That’s getting Kiké out of those clothes and then out of his mind. 

The ride back to the hotel is a loud affair. Their driver is patient like a saint, as Kiké leans forward and turns the volume louder, and sings along at the top his lungs to the pop song that’s playing on the radio. It’s not a bad sound, he’s not good though, and Cody laughs and feels like the tight lump in his chest, swelling with some sort of unknown pleasure, isn’t ever going to fade. 

By comparisons, the hotel is quiet, and Cody wraps a hand around his mouth as they stumble back to the hotel. Kiké licks his hand like a brat and laughs when Cody jerks his hand away and there’s something glittering in Kiké’s eyes which makes Cody think– make him _know_ that he’s expecting anything. 

Everything. 

He slides his keycard and lets them in; Kiké collapses back onto the sheets and squirms like he’s trying to get comfortable. 

Cody sets the bottles of champagne he swiped clink against the wood of the nightstand and he breathes in through his teeth in a hiss. 

At some point– Kiké had found a shirt again, his hair is all sticking up everywhere from the beer and champagne, and his cheeks and neck are flushed red. Cody swallows past the lump in his throat and is glad drunkeness is spurring him on because he thinks he would have lost his nerve if he was sober. 

“Take your shirt off.” Cody’s voice wavers and Kiké’s smile feels like a predator’s but he doesn’t seem to mind being bossed around and he peels his shirt off. His chest is flushed red too. 

It’s a look. It’s a good look. Cody bites his lower lip and palms his cock and he’s already getting hard. Which should be embarrassing, but he’s not embarrassed. (Maybe he would be later.)

Cody wants to cover Kiké’s body with his own. Wants to bite marks into his skin, wants to dig his fingers into his slim hips until it hurts and feel the blood well up underneath them as they form bruises. He wants to stake some claim on something that isn’t his. Cody’s thoughts from earlier flash to the forefront of his mind. 

“Stand up.” His voice doesn’t shake this time as he finds himself and finds his words; finds the courage he needs as everything solidifies in his mind for this moment; everything else is a haze of feeling. Kiké stands. Cody raises his hand in the air and twirls his finger to indicate that KIké should turn around. 

He does. Without a bit of hesitation. It lights a fire in Cody’s stomach somewhere, makes his throat feel like it’s on fire. 

“Pants off.” He commands next and Kiké laughs, but he shimmies his hips and slides them down, revealing a perfect ass and muscular thighs and everything about him is _perfect_. Cody almost chokes on the swell of want. It burns through him, ravages like a wildfire. 

Cody moves in and puts his hand against Kiké’s shoulders and pushes. Until his back is arched how he wants it, Kiké’s ass sticking out, his cock heavy between his legs. He’s flushed there too, almost too even, too perfect to be real. But this is real. Cody grabs the bottle of champagne. It’s not really quick to do that, but he listens to Kiké breathe and he’s sure the city outside isn’t celebrating and it looks like rain on the windows but it’s hot in here. 

Cody dribbles champagne down Kiké’s back, and follows the path of it with his eyes and then leans in, and flicks his tongue over where it pools briefly at the dip in his back. Kiké shudders and Cody does it again. He tastes the beer from before and the champagne now, and sweat beneath it all and he isn’t sure how he’s gone without having _this_. 

He pours another bit and does the same thing, catching the bubbles on his tongue. 

“Turn around for a minute.” Cody pushes at Kiké’s hip and when he does, he grabs a handful of his hair and tips his head back, and tips the bottle of champagne against his lips. 

 

He watches the way that Kiké's throat moves as he swallows. Cody knows he shouldn't think it's so hot, but god damn it is. He wants to press his finger to his adam's apple and feel it jump wildly beneath his fingers.

He drags the bottle away from Kiké's lips and then pushes at him again, until he's turned back around. 

"You gonna make me dizzy" Kiké's voice already sounds wrecked, gravelly and maybe it was from yelling in the clubhouse or maybe it's because Cody makes him feel like that. 

"It's only fair," Cody says as he pours more champagne down Kiké's back. "you do it to me all the time." 

Kiké's laugh feels like a warm hand over tired muscles. Cody also knows that this is what he gets so he should enjoy it. He tries to push the maudlin aside. 

Cody slides his hand down and rubs a hand over Kiké's ass, squeezes at the firm flesh, and then brings his hand down with a sharp crack. 

" _Fuck!_ " Kiké's cry is loud and Cody's dick pulses in response. He spreads Kiké's cheeks and tips the champagne at the top, and watches as droplets slide down his crack, over his balls and Cody bites his lip in response. 

Cody leans in and slides his tongue over Kiké, licking the champagne and he feels him _quiver_. Cody digs his nails in and does it again, then again as Kiké's breath gets ragged and he's making encouraging noises and Cody doesn't know if he can handle it. 

He thinks about drinking the entire bottle of champagne, drink by drink, laving his tongue over the tight pucker of Kiké's hole. Instead, Cody sets the champagne bottle aside and spreads Kiké wider and ducks in, licking at him in earnest. 

He licks until the taste of champagne is gone completely, until Kiké's entire body is flushed angry red. Cody can feel the way Kiké is shaking, muscles jumping, knees weak. Cody doesn't stop. 

He pushes his tongue in him and the sound is wet and filthy, like the way Kiké sounds, moaning and encouraging, rocking his hips back a little. Cody presses his tongue into Kiké, just to feel the way he pulses and clenches around his tongue. 

God, it's so good, that Cody needs some release. He needs a hand or mouth or Kiké around his cock like ten minutes ago or maybe yesterday. He pulls back and his saliva is running down Kiké's ass. Cody rubs himself through his pants and then pops the button on them to give himself a release from the pressure. 

It doesn't work. 

"You gonna fuck me or what?" Kiké's voice sounds strained and leaning back like he is, Cody can see the way his arms are flexed, how that redness strains all over him like he's been painted with his arousal. 

Cody rubs a hand over his face and he's glad he usually comes prepared for this, even if it's rarely necessary. He slips his fingers into Kiké, who jerks forward and then rocks back against them, as Cody fumbles in his duffel bag for a condom. 

"You sure you want this?" Cody asks. He feels like his voice is betraying too much, but maybe that's okay. Maybe tomorrow he can blame the alcohol. 

Maybe he won't need to. 

Cody keeps fingering Kiké as he slides a condom on one handed, curls his fingers against his prostate and Kiké cries out again. Cody wants to tell him to say his name -- but they're not alone in the hotel. They can't. 

He shouldn't want -- 

"Get on your back." Cody slides his fingers out and Kiké obliges without a second thought. His cock is hard, almost purple, smearing precome over his stomach. 

Cody teases his fingers over it, watching as it jumps, watching as Kiké's eyes slide closed and he kisses in a desperate breath. Cody circles Kiké's ankle with his fingers and brings his leg up. 

He hooks it over his shoulder. 

"Fuck, that's good." Kiké says and he's looking up at Cody with dark, soft eyes. Cody can't focus on that too much so he grabs the base of his own cock and pushes in. 

Cody has to dig his nails into his own palms to stop from coming _immediately_. Kiké feels perfect around his cock. Like he was made just for him. Kiké's mouth falls open, his head tips back and he reaches out for Cody. 

"C'mon move don't tease me." Kiké sounds as desperate as Cody feels and it's okay. It's okay because they're in this together. Kiké grabs at him as Cody presses in more, until he's kneeling on the edge of the bed and Kiké has one leg over his shoulder, the other wrapped around his thighs. 

"Flexible," Cody says, making a sound low in his throat, he circles his hips slowl and Kiké moans loudly, eyes closing. "you feel good baby, it's okay, I got you." 

Cody tries to go slow. But Kiké doesn't want slow, he's needy, he digs his nails into Cody's scalo and squirms against his cock and reaches between them to jerk himself off. Kiké's knuckles drag over Cody's stomach and ignite sparks in him. 

Cody feels like a teenager, fumbling around got the first time. Everything feels sticky and like it's overwhelming him and he sets a rhythm but it isn't going to last. 

Kiké urges him on in Spanish that Cody knows like three words of and one of them is _fuck_. 

So Cody puts his back into it. He pins Kiké's hip to the bed and snaps his hips and Kiké practically wails in response and so Cody does it again. 

Kiké's loud even though Cody barely understands what he's saying. _Yes_ and _God_ and Cody feels like he's going to just burst into flames. 

It'd be okay if he did. This being his last sensation, he could live with that. 

Cody doesn't last long. He's exhausted and worn out and everything feels like too much and he bites down on Kiké's shoulder as he does, hips jerking erratically through his orgasm. 

It's too much that Kiké keeps stroking his dick, squeezing tight around Cody as he gets closer, too, and then he's crying out again and coming all over his own stomach and chest. 

God it looks so fucking good. 

Cody rolls off of Kiké and lays panting, staring up at the ceiling and trying to gain his bearings enough to move. To take the condom off, to clean them up. 

"You good at that, _MVP_ ," Kiké says, his voice sounds sated and amused and Cody turns to glance at him, "most valuable pornstar."

Kiké laughs at his own joke and Cody rolls his eyes, but something loosens in his chest and he finally stands to clean them up. They may shoulder to shoulder and Cody feels like he's drifting, sleep coming rapidly.

Kiké is pressed against his side, and he taps him in the center of the chest. 

"After we win the series, it's my turn."

And honestly? Cody is fine with that.


End file.
